by Brad Land
Probably, I say. You like all these guys?
Sure. I guess. They seem okay.
Okay or do you like them?
I like them. I guess I just don’t know them that good yet to say whether I really like them. Why, do you? he says.
Sure, I say and turn back toward the ground.
I’m lying but I keep telling myself that I need these guys and that I will like them eventually. I need them to be normal. I need them to be like Brett.
They sure as shit have been nice, he says.
They have.
So, what’s the big deal?
No big deal. I was just wondering. How you felt and all.
I’m cool if you’re cool.
I’m cool.
Yeah?
Yeah.
Me too. I’m cool too.
We leave the quad and start down Main Street. Cars blowing by in the early darkness. We walk up the hills on Main Street and the sweat starts everywhere. I can feel it on my forehead and back. Beneath my arms. My chest tightens and I pull out a cigarette.
Man, Dave says looking over at me. You must have strong lungs.
No, I say. I don’t. I just figure I might as well enjoy myself.
Right, he says. We stop and sit on a bench beside a Methodist church. It’s all dark fat stones, the tall stained-glass window out front lit up, each piece shines with the light behind it. It’s Jesus and he’s standing there with his solemn face and his arms laid at his sides, the hands upturned and pushed out like he’s offering something up. But there’s nothing in his hands. I look at my own hands and they’re empty and small, the kind of hands that girls hold theirs up to and curl the tops of their fingers over. I flick the cigarette onto the church grass and Dave gets up and runs over to it. He picks it up, mashes it on the bottom of his shoe and walks back over to me. He’s still holding the butt.
What in the hell are you doing? he says. You shouldn’t flick cigarettes in a churchyard.
Nobody saw it.
Yeah, but it’s a sin or something. He moves past me and throws the cigarette into the road. Sits back down beside me and rests his forearms against his thighs, leans over and gathers his hands between them.
You should know better, man, he says.
I’m sorry, I say. Look over at him slouched beside me. Really. I’m sorry.
Okay, he says turning up to me. Just don’t do it again.
Sure, I say. I promise.
He crosses his legs and leans back, stretches one arm behind the bench. Reaches forward and brushes his polished brown loafers. We get up and take the sidewalk again and it’s just a ways to the apartment we’re going to and underneath the oak and burning street lamps I light another cigarette.
WE GO TO an apartment complex where three sets of brothers live in three different apartments. We round the entrance and start down a steep hill. Hands in our pockets. In the parking lot people swarm around cars, hover beneath doorstep lights. Dave and I see the first brother slouched against a rusted brown Chevette and he’s just standing there, a beer in one hand and a cigarette in the other. He turns his head when he sees us walking up.
Hello, boys, he says.
We nod. He turns the beer up and sucks the last bit. I wonder why he’s leaning against this beat-up car by himself, sweating and staring at everyone. He wipes his forehead with the back of his palm.
Hot, he says. Hot as a whore in church. Dave laughs.
Go on and get a beer, he says. Points toward a group of people. We’ve still got our hands in our pockets and we both nod and move off.
I follow Dave up the steps into an apartment. People leaning against the stairway railing, nodding when we pass. Inside the apartment the air is clouded in thick smoke. Some brothers playing cards at a table just past the front door, Ben Moore, Chance McInnis, my brother’s roommate, Wes Thompson. They all look up when we come in and my hands are shaking in my pockets. I ball them into tight fists.
Well look here, Ben says. He throws his cards against the table. It’s the fucking golden boys.
Chance drops a cigarette into a beer can, props his elbows against the table, smiles and blows smoke from one corner of his mouth. Wes stands up and drapes an arm over my shoulder.
I was wondering when you’d get here, he says. I look up and his eyes are all red with the smoke.
Brett’s out back, he says. Dave sits down beside Chance. He drops a hand on Dave’s shoulder and Ben slides a bottle across the table. Dave grabs it just before it drops over the edge.
I’ll walk you out, Wes says. I turn back and Dave doesn’t look nervous at all and I’m wondering what bad things Chance used to tell him. Dave’s smiling, bringing the beer up to his mouth. Ben and Chance grinning beside him. The narrow hallway crowded with people. When we pass the bathroom the door is cracked and there’s a big guy sitting on the toilet and a girl with thin red hair straddling him, their mouths all tangled up. He’s got his hands underneath her arms, moving her across his lap like she’s a doll. He cracks an eye, sees me looking in, leans over with one thick arm and slams the door. In the kitchen three of my pledge brothers are talking. They’ve all got beers and when we pass by one points at me and nods seriously. This is all meant to mean yes, we are here, we did something good. I point back and he smiles.
Outside Brett is standing next to a keg, this blue hat pulled down over his eyes, talking to a short guy with long hair. He presses his hand down on a lever to pump beer from the keg. He laughs and looks up. Wes and I walk down the steps and Wes gets two plastic cups from beside the keg, holds the nozzle over one and begins to fill it. When it’s full I reach for the cup but he hands it to a girl who’s come up behind me.
Ladies first, he says and starts to fill the other cup. When he hands the next beer to me I raise it to my lips and pull out a cigarette. Brett lights it for me and we just stand there beside the keg pulling on our smokes. The short guy leaves and Brett nods toward him.
Later, he says.
I brought the man out to see you, Wes says, tilting his head over at me.
Yeah, Brett says. I was waiting on him to get here.
We’re proud of you, Wes says. Real proud. Brett nods.
I’m pretty happy, I say. Scratch the back of my head.
No surprise, Wes says. You were a lock.
Nah, I say.
Damn straight you were, he says, and then I don’t know what else to say about it because I am happy but at the same time everything seems off, somehow, like I don’t belong here. Anywhere.
So, I’ll leave you two to talk, Wes says. I got some shit to attend to. Back in there. He points toward the door.
Wes turns and hikes up the stairs back into the apartment. He looks back while he’s holding the door and raises the red plastic cup into the air like a trophy. Asks Brett where he got the hat from. It says I Love Guam. Brett says he found it in a rickshaw in Charleston.
What? Wes says.
A rickshaw, Brett says. Rode in it.
Oh, Wes says. He turns, lets the door fall shut.
Dumbass, Brett says. Doesn’t even know what a rickshaw is.
What’re rickshaws doing in Charleston? I say.
Hippies pull them, he says. Cheaper than a taxi.
Brett bends the bill of his hat with both hands.
Fun, huh? Brett says. Looks around the backyard.
Yeah, it is, I say.
Fun fun fun, he says and I don’t know what else to say.
Are you happy? he says.
Yeah. Sure. Really happy. I try to make it sound real. He looks at my face.
Nah. He shakes his head. You aren’t.
Yes, I am, I say but I’m not even though I think I should be. I know somehow he’s disappointed and I can’t figure why this isn’t good enough.
He’s staring at me from beneath the hat and I can hear him thinking.
This is for you, all for you, because you are good enough, because you are my brother and you don’t need me.
Brett has bee
n keeping his distance the past week or so and I know it’s because he wants me to do this alone. Because he wants me to know that I can do it.
He sprays beer into a cup. Eyes shaded by the baseball cap. He turns around in the yard and stares past the fence at the knotted trees. Walks toward a group of people gathered at the other apartment, stretches his arm out and flicks the cigarette toward the shrub. It flies like a bottle rocket and disappears in the shadows.
I KEEP DRINKING keg beer outside, talking but never really listening to people who wander out, looking over at Brett standing at another apartment talking to people there the way he won’t talk to me. I keep wondering if he’ll come back but he doesn’t. He goes inside and I don’t see him again.
Dave comes out after a while. Looks carefully at the steps walking down, pauses on the third step and takes a breath. He brushes the hair away from his face and it gleams in the overhead light. Comes down and starts filling his cup.
Whew, he says. His eyes are bloodshot. Gettin’ drunk in there.
Yeah, I say. Me too.
He tilts his cup to keep the foam down. Why don’t you come inside? he says.
I don’t know, I say. It’s nice out here.
Hot though.
Yep.
You’re coming to the cabin though, right? It’s part of this whole thing.
Sure. What time?
About an hour.
Come get me.
You sure you don’t wanna come in?
Maybe in a minute.
Okay. He turns and takes the steps cautiously again.
After a few more minutes of waiting for Brett to come back I go inside and walk through all the people slouched against the walls. One girl with black hair smiles at me and I look at her for a moment, think it might be Michelle from the other night. She turns around and starts talking to another girl and I keep walking.
The beer has calmed my hands and I sit down next to Dave at the table with Ben and Chance and Wes. Wes has a girl sitting in his lap. She’s holding a hand of cards and Wes keeps pointing to one. She giggles and drops one in a pile at the middle.
Drink, fucker, Wes says. He points at Ben. Drink you fat fuck, he says.
Ben stares across the table.
Fat? he says. He draws a circle on the table with his index finger. My dick’s fat, he says. He lifts the beer to his mouth. Looks over at Wes again. Don’t call me fat you bony bitch, he says.
Wes and the girl both laugh. Chance rubs his forehead and reaches over into my shirt pocket. Pulls out my cigarettes, shakes one into his mouth, drops them back into my pocket.
Thanks, he says.
It’s nothing, I say.
Chance leans over to me. You remember how I said we’d get you some whores?
Yeah.
Well, you’re in luck, son. There’re plenty here. Plenty more at the cabin.
I nod. Good, I say. Good.
Chance laughs. I look down at my beer and start pulling at one end of the label and then I decide that I’m tired of feeling like something’s not right so I drink until I finish the whole thing. Chance gives me another.
Damn, boy, he says. Thirsty? I nod and do the same with another beer.
I got just the thing for a thirsty pledge, he says. He reaches under the table and brings out a handle of Jim Beam. Unscrews the top and turns the heavy bottle up. His Adam’s apple clicking up and down with the swallows. When he’s done he wipes his mouth and pushes the bottle over toward me.
I want to impress him.
I want to be happy.
I want this all to be right.
The bottle warm in my hands. I run my nose over the top. The smell makes me wince and Chance laughs but I take the bottle and point the bottom straight toward the ceiling. Let my eyes roll back into my head. The swallows burn my throat but I keep going and when I’m done I slam the bottle down, squint my eyes hard and wipe my mouth. Chance looks at my face.
Hah, he says, that’s how it’s done. He grabs my shoulder and shakes me back and forth. I clutch his thick shoulder.
Hah, I say and we laugh for no reason and Chance crosses his arms in front of him on the table and lays his head between them. He pulls up all red-eyed, breathes in quickly and laughs again. I lean my chair back and it slips and I topple down beside the table. My face against the carpet and Chance stands and scoops me up beneath the arms like a baby and he laughs and everyone at the table laughs and I stand and hold my arms up like I’ve just won something and Ben pats me on the shoulder and Dave looks up at me and everyone starts clapping. I take a bow and sit back down. Pledges standing on the other side of the table clapping and smiling. My head starts to rock with the beer and the bourbon and the smoke and everything hums like it’s all electric and I forget about Brett, forget about wanting him to be here with me in all the laughter and static and Ben slides the deck toward me and says it’s my turn to deal.
I RIDE WITH Chance and Dave to the cabin. The whole way Chance’s pulling from a silver flask with his initials on the front. He turns the radio up for this Kenny Loggins song “Danger Zone” from the movie Top Gun.
Damn, he says. Holds one hand flat against the air outside. I love that fucking movie.
Dave looks over at him flying his hand like an airplane. The air tosses Dave’s hair all around his face.
Yeah, Dave says, all serious. All those fast airplanes and stuff.
I laugh. Chance looks at Dave and then turns around to me.
What? he says.
Oh, I say. Nothing. Something from earlier. Chance looks back out the window, keeps flying his hand like it’s an airplane. Dave turns around and rolls his eyes, twirls his finger around his head like Chance’s crazy, and I nod.
Chance looks back at me and Dave.
What? Chance says. We can’t stop laughing and Chance starts laughing too. He takes another pull from the flask and passes it back to me. I bring it up and it’s stopped tasting bad, stopped tasting like anything.
We laugh again and the car drifts over the yellow line to the other side of the road. Chance takes the flask from Dave and when he’s back on the right side of the yellow line he turns off the lights and we drive in the dark and he hangs his hand out again to split the air and there’s nothing but the silent and warm darkness rushing inside.
THE DIRT PARKING lot at the cabin is choked with cars. It’s a cinder-block building some rich alumni donated to the KA’s, and they rent it out to other fraternities for parties and things. Chance pulls up and blocks two cars in and we don’t say anything, we just get out and start walking and I hope my brother will be here and I think he will because everyone’s supposed to, all the brothers, all the pledges. The gravel is loose and Dave slips once and then I slip right after that. Chance shakes his head at us.
You two know how to walk? he says.
Sure, I say and Dave laughs. Stumbles again. The voices coming from cars, from people slouched against them, the music from inside the cabin, it folds into this one thick hum. My contacts stick to my eyes. I rub them with two fingers, blink hard a few times. There’s a line waiting to get in the front door and a big guy checking ID’s so the fraternity won’t be liable for underage drinking. He stands there all muscles and no neck, a shaved head, arms crossed in front of him between ID’s. But it’s just for show Chance tells us on the way there. No one really cares. All you have to do is show him something. It could say you’re sixty-four and from Kalamazoo. Chance walks straight to the front of the line and Dave and I follow. The bouncer looks down at Chance and nods him in. When Dave walks by he puts a hand on his chest. Dave looks around like he doesn’t know what to do and Chance walks up behind the big guy. Whispers in his ear. He takes the hand off Dave’s chest and cocks his head toward the door.
INSIDE THERE’S AN eighties band onstage. Guys in their thirties. The lead singer has long, tightly curled hair. They start this song “Come On Eileen” right when we walk in and the crowd up front starts bouncing up and down. Chance leaves Dave and me, g
oes over to a crowd of girls. We get canned beers from plastic trash cans full of ice. They taste like water and Dave and I go into the crowd up front, duck below the raised arms and jumping cigarettes. Someone spills a beer down my arm. I look for Brett in the middle of all the jumping bodies. Wes is standing behind a girl, arms around her waist, twisting his crotch into her back. He holds his arms up and cheers when the chorus starts and his beer tips over onto the girl’s head. She reaches up, pats her hair and keeps dancing. A pledge shuffles his feet and rocks his head. Another pledge sees us at the back of the crowd, holds an arm above all the heads and points. I point back and lead us toward Wes and I’m feeling all confident, pushing people aside and brushing past them like I’m someone who’s supposed to be here, like this is for me. I grab Wes’s shoulder and he turns around and smiles, raises his arms again and spills beer onto the girl’s head again. I pat her head and she smiles. Turns back around and starts to dance, arms above her head. Wes doesn’t say anything. Stands behind me and Dave, drops one hand on both our shoulders and screams, because, I guess, he’s happy.
I lose count of the beers I’ve drunk somewhere around sixteen. A pledge leans into a corner of the room, head down against his chest. A girl tugs at his arm and he doesn’t look up he just swats the hand away. Will Fitch stands next to the trash cans full of beer, stares straight ahead, blinks his eyes. The floor is slick with all the dirt from people’s shoes mixing with spilled beer. The band stops playing at two-thirty. The lead singer brushes his greasy bangs away from his forehead and thanks everyone.
You guys know how to rock, he says. Balls one hand into a fist above his head. Everybody cheers, throwing arms up toward the ceiling. Rock and fucking roll, he says. My face feels numb. I sit down in a wooden chair in the middle of the cabin. Dave stands next to me, cocks a hip to the right and puts his hands in his back pockets and we’re there in all the laughter and smoke and shifting bodies wondering why we were nervous at all because we’re rock stars with our snarls and shirts drenched from the sweat and beer.
MY HEAD STARTS to drop to my chest and I can’t keep my eyes open. A girl sits in my lap. I look up and she’s there staring at my face. I don’t recognize her but she seems to know me because she keeps saying I knew you’d get in, they had to have you. I give her a cigarette and put my hands around her hips. I can feel the edge where her jeans meet her stomach. I slide one hand around to the groove her spine makes down her back, run two fingers along it and she’s looking at me and I’m looking at her with my numb face and she puts a palm flat against my chest, runs the hand down to my waist, turns around and pulls on the cigarette. Dave leans down to my ear.